


The Only Truth That Sticks

by Meatball42



Series: Masquerade [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Conversations, BAMF Melinda May, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Complicated Relationships, Deleted Scenes, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flirting, Good Intentions, Huddling For Warmth, Iron Man 2, Manipulation, Marvel Universe Big Bang 2016, Nightmares, Nonverbal Communication, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sex Pollen, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Trucks, Undercover as Married, Up all night to get Bucky, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: It took years for Natasha to understand Tony on a personal level, and in that time their relationship has ended up as many of Natasha’s do: they are colleagues who can work together professionally, but don’t even pretend to trust each other. She sets her sights on repairing their relationship, but with Tony Stark, nothing is ever going to be easy.Or, Five times Tony Stark did not sleep with Natasha Romanoff, and one time he did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a quote by Arthur Miller, who brought us the lovely Death of a Salesman. Look up the quote if you’re curious, but definitely after reading, because otherwise it’s a bit too on the nose. This way it’s got a nice air of mystery, you know?
> 
> -  
> One of the things that confuses me most about the MCU fandom is that these two extremely sexy, smart, driven characters don’t ever get shipped. And why is that? It could be because they both have a range of very popular ships (Stony, Pepperony, Clintasha, etc.), but there are more fics tagged Steve Rogers/Thor than Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark, and, not that I don’t appreciate some Thundershield, but _whaaat?_ Another reason could be the whole IM2 thing, but let’s be real how many ships have flourished after this sort of twisty, inauspicious beginning (*cough* Stony *cough*)?
> 
> Anyway, I love these two, they both deserve the best, which in my mind is each other, and they deserve it in a non-tropey, non-team gangbangy way (not that I don’t love those too ;). I don’t normally write big long get-together fics like this, but I _need these two to be happy together_ like I need to go to the gym, which is to say, far more than is ever likely to happen in reality.
> 
> -  
> This story would be pretty crappy, let's be honest, without the kind, patient, and talented intervention and guidance of [red_b_rackham](http://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham) who saved my several times over through this fic's long development as beta, and then went above and beyond to pinch hit the art when my first artist dropped out. And then the art is, as you'll see below, typically friggin' incredible, because that's the only kind of art I've ever seen her make. The art masterpost is available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8523124).
> 
> Special thanks to [lalalalalawhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/profile), who beta'd the dancing scenes so that I sounded like less of an idiot as a writer, and also so that the story could be made clearer and more meaningful with the power of dance, which is the point of it, after all. Also, all the music links are from her, because they are far superior to the ones I had.
> 
> Further gratitude and appreciation for my friends [defenestratingreason](http://archiveofourown.org/users/defenestratingreason) and [h-c---n](h-c---n.tumblr.com) who helped beta, often to huge effect. h-c---n also made cracky fanart for the final chapter which I will one day get her to post, see if I don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening scene of this story is based on one of Iron Man 2's deleted scenes, which can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nintjt7jsLk).

 

~ ~ * ~ ~

Natasha can tell Stark is feeling lonely before his party, but it’s the sort of profound loneliness that comes from having an ego too large for anyone to come near, so she doesn’t feel sorry for him. Natalie may or may not notice, if it’s convenient later, but either way she’s too professional to bring it up.

Natasha has no problem running two personalities at once; it’s once you hit four that complications arise.

When they are alone in his suite, Stark asks Natasha what she’d do on her last birthday. He’s bought the cover; she has the latitude to be creative. Natasha chooses to give him some real advice, even though she knows he won’t take it.

Tony Stark is going to live- SHIELD will make sure of that, and hopefully without blowing Natasha’s cover- but it’s a tactical advantage to play him like this, to make him think of her as an object of desire linked to the end of his sickness. Even if this weren’t a life-or-death case, laying the groundwork of flirtation with a mark is always a good plan, in case things play out unexpectedly.

Right before they adjourn to greet guests, JARVIS, the AI butler/security system, tells Stark that Pepper Potts is on her way. Natasha has observed the relationship between them for the past few weeks, and it wasn’t difficult to recognize tension from more than just Stark’s hidden illness. Natasha ponders her options as she accepts birthday gifts on Stark’s behalf and shows guests into the mansion.

She can lead Stark, somewhat, by flirtation, and she can use that to alienate or draw in Potts. If Natasha could manipulate Stark’s guilt, however, her control over him and the whole situation would be much stronger. He’s going to get drunk tonight either way, but she can play it to her benefit.

There will, of course, be a time when they are on the same team; when Natasha will have to work with her target. But this is Fury’s long-term plan, and those have a way of working out, even when Natasha herself can’t see the end.

She pours him a drink, and turns on the heat.

By the time Pepper Potts arrives, Stark is tipsy. He’s experienced enough not to let it show, but Natasha has spent a lot of time with men in various stages of inebriation, and lets herself stand in his way as he relaxes. His hands find their way to her hips and elbows and back more often as the night goes on, and Potts walks in on him plastered to her back, helping her fire an Iron Man glove at an ice sculpture. Natasha ignores Potts, letting Stark have all of her attention, and takes care not to nudge the port where the glove on her hand is connected to the technology in his chest: they’ll need that, eventually.

Once Potts withdraws, Natasha watches the guilt creep onto Stark’s face. She doesn’t know if he’s lashing out intentionally to alienate his friends before his death, or if he’s legitimately starting to lose control, or if this is normal behavior and Potts and Rhodes are simply far more patient than Natasha would be. In any case, he’s vulnerable. She picks up a tray of shots, and he manages a believable smile.

They stumble, laughing, into one of the many lounge rooms in the mansion. Natasha lets the tray of drinks clatter onto a table beside a couch, and Stark sinks down beside it, reaching for a drink. Natasha allows the cable connecting them to tangle with his hand.

“Ow ow, can’t have that pulling off something important,” he says, and Natalie makes an appropriate noise of agreement and concern. She goes to her knees in front of the sofa so Stark can disconnect the cable, and then she winds it around her hand, looking into his eyes. She takes off the Iron Man glove and hands it to him carefully.

Stark takes off his sunglasses and throws them and the glove along the couch, staring at her face. “Ah, drink?” he says after a long moment.

Natasha smiles and nods, reaching over his lap to pick up two shot glasses. She can feel Stark’s eyes on her body as she moves, and on her lips when she tosses back the drink. When she looks at him again, he’s still staring at her lips, his glass full.

“Not thirsty?” she asks, flashing him a half-smile. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t answer. Natasha takes the glass from his hand and swallows it, slower this time, letting Stark watch her throat move and her tongue catch the last drops from the rim. When she’s finished, she sits back on her heels, letting the picture of her kneeling between his legs sink in.

Stark’s pupils are blown. She stands, sets the empty glasses on the tray, and walks around him to sit by his side, close enough that when she sinks into the brown leather she can feel his warmth on her arm.

The room Natasha has brought them to is empty, lit by a few scattered lamps. She is positioned to be in the light, with darkness behind her. In the dress she’s chosen, she should appear warm and accessible.

Natasha is the best because she doesn’t leave anything to chance.

“Is there anything else you want that I can do for you, Mr. Stark?” she says, reaching out to straighten his collar. She blinks up at him innocently, but with her lips quirked slightly upwards.

Finally, he takes the bait. His hand in her hair presses them together, but not forcefully, and though his kisses quickly turn lewd, they’re not sloppy or painful. Natasha appreciates these small courtesies from her marks. She lets one hand ruffle through Stark’s hair, forearm stroking against his neck, and tugs his tie with the other, as though she wants Stark just as close as she’s made him want her.

They break for air and Natasha glances down. She looks up at him from under her eyelashes, then at his mouth. Stark reads the signal and pulls her back in, this time by the waist, bringing them flush. His hand moves to her lower back, supporting her as he kisses her neck.

Natalie gasps quietly, holding him by the shoulders, and digs her nails in so he can feel them through his jacket. Stark bites in response, harder than Natalie likes, and she flinches. He kisses her again and pulls her nearly onto his lap.

She’s let her dress ride up a bit, but it’s still pretty uncomfortable, so Natasha shimmies and it slips up a few more inches. Stark leers and slides his hands up her thighs to help it along, and he tugs her so she’s seated right up against him.

“You are a very good PA, you know that?”

Natalie grins and kisses him harder.

The main goals of the evening are to keep Stark from getting into too much trouble and to increase her influence over his emotions and behaviors. If she gets him off here, with as many drinks as he’s had, he’ll likely fall asleep for a while and miss the worst of the party. It’s not Natasha’s favorite play- when the option is available she prefers a swift blow to the head- but it’s acceptable.

Stark’s hand drawing down the zipper of her dress, however, is not.

He strokes her side, from her hip to the underside of her breast. Natalie lets out a breathy sound and squirms on him, and Stark bucks up against her. She rides his erection through his pants, but grabs his hand and looks over her shoulder to the door, which has the added bonus of shoving her cleavage in his face. “We can’t-”

“Oh we definitely can,” he says into her neck. Natasha rolls her eyes. He shakes her grip off his wrist- she lets go reluctantly- and reaches both hands under her dress to grip her underwear.

 

 

 

“Those are La Perla,” Natalie says, squirming again. Stark’s hands tighten and the lace digs into her skin.

He noses down between her breasts, his ridiculous goatee scratching gently against sensitive skin. “How do you feel about Bordelle? I’ll buy you a replacement set, I promise.”

Natalie pulls his head up, hands on his cheeks. “There are people in the next room.”

Stark shoves himself against her again and pulls her hips closer by her underwear.

Natasha lets the motion jiggle her, considering. If she turns him down now, it would more or less lose all the ground she’s gained. If she lets Stark see and touch some of her, then stops him, she can definitely use that for the guilt angle, particularly if he doesn’t remember the details and she plays shy tomorrow. If she gives him what he wants, he’ll get rid of her.

Tactically, there’s only one good option. The only question is how far she has to let him go.

But the sharp lines of her underwear have stopped biting into her skin, and Stark’s eyes look a lot less drunk than they did a few seconds ago. “Nevermind, you’re right, this is a bad idea.” Stark moves under her, not thrusting as he was before, but nudging her down toward his knees. She slips off him, graceful on her high heels, and zips up her dress.

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark, I-”

“No, no, Natalie, I’m just- this is my bad, alright? You’re great, you’re fantastic.” He takes one of her hands and squeezes it. Natasha would admit to being a bit thrown. “I’m gonna get you a glass of wine, alright? We’ve got a party to host.”

Natalie nods, allows a tentative smile that grows when Stark grins. “We good? Good.” He strides out the door, only walking a little awkwardly. Natasha follows.

Result: positive. She can definitely use this encounter to guilt him over the next few weeks, and to draw him in closer if she decides to play it that way. Plus, Clint will be happy to know Stark’s not completely morally bankrupt. He’s got a superhero-crush on Iron Man that he has managed to hide from everyone but her.

In the next hour, Tony Stark drinks some more, relieves himself in the Iron Man suit for the gratification of a few hundred house guests, and trashes his mansion in a pathetic spat with his best friend. Natasha’s primary goal of the evening- containment- flies out the shattered windows.

On the other hand, maybe she won’t tell Clint about this mission.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s late summer and the air above Manhattan is heavy. On the landing pad of Stark Tower, where guests in tuxedos and evening gowns mingle with drinks and small desserts, a light breeze sweeps away the smells of the city below. Moonlight dapples the party.

Natasha stands inside the wide glass doors separating the landing pad from the lounge, holding a glass of champagne and people-watching. This is a private party, but the list is not closed: guests are split between celebrities, like herself and the other Avengers, and people who have paid a lot of money to spend time with them. 

Natasha has danced with the senior senator from New York, drunk forty-year-old wine with a man twice as rich as Tony, and exchanged suggestions for baking pies with a woman who co-owns half the industry in the Western states. It’s lucky Clint bakes, or Natasha would have had to offer knife-sharpening tips instead, and Damian the Public Relations Manager probably wouldn’t have appreciated that.

Across the lounge, Damian the Public Relations Manager is tapping madly at his BlackBerry. Natasha told the young man that she would be taking a few minutes break from currying the favor of the rich and powerful, and he had turned red in the face before agreeing.

Honestly, this is more tiring than the congressional hearings regarding Hydra’s corruption of SHIELD, though Natasha isn’t sure Steve would agree. He’s currently locked in conversation with an advertising executive and her husband, and he looks like he’d rather jump off the Tower than continue talking to them. Natasha can tell, though she knows most of the guests can’t. Still, it’s better to see him exhausted from small talk than disheartened, the way he gets from arguing against the government he naively believes in.

Natasha takes a long sip of her champagne, and then a calming breath of the night air. Who could have known that they’d end up here?

A flash of russet red gown catches her eye. Pepper is leaving the platform, chivvying an older gentleman who has had too much to drink. Pepper hands him off to the staff, who discretely help the man away from the party, and then turns with an ingratiating smile to a well-dressed pair near the dessert table.

Natasha frowns. Pepper’s smile is tenser than it should be. She scans the balcony, and- yes. Tony is watching Pepper and maintaining a monologue to a small crowd, but underneath the charm, he’s tired and unhappy. Natasha has gotten used to seeing that expression since SHIELD came down, since she and Steve moved into the Tower for strategizing. Tony’s never one to show his true feelings in public, though.

Natasha adds two and two and gets four days or fewer since the break-up.

The party continues for another hour and a half. Natasha is used to heels, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys standing on them, without any real movement, for hours on end. And since Thor is off-world and Bruce bowed out over an hour ago, she has to stay until all the guests depart. By that point, she’s more than ready for something stronger than champagne.

Tony beats her to the bar. When she gets there, he’s pouring whiskey into a tumbler, and his hand is shaking on the bottle.

“Think you’ve had enough for tonight?” Natasha says mildly.

Tony glances at her. “Nope. Not enough alcohol in the world to make me forget Mace’s wife and her leathery hands on my cheeks.”

“That what’s bothering you?” Natasha asks, tipping her head just a hint.

Tony frowns at her. “What’s your game, Salt?”

Natasha scowls. “I hated that movie.”

“You’re in the minority. Angelina Jolie is a treasure. And quite the humanitarian, we’re actually working on a project right now-”

“How does Pepper feel about that?” Natasha regrets it as soon as she says it; there were a dozen better ways, but Tony is aggravating.

Immediately, he goes from fake-jovial to closed-off. “She thinks it’s a great idea.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony glares. “Do you want to say something, Romanoff, or do you want to run off to your room? I’ve still got work to do tonight.”

Natasha looks briefly at the two fingers of whiskey he’s holding and considers. Tony is in pain and trying to bury himself in work and alcohol. He’s likely to get worse, not better, if she leaves him be.

Over the last few months, working with the other Earth-bound Avengers on the SHIELD/Hydra recovery, she’s gotten a lot better at reading her teammate. Natasha has a lot more patience for Tony than she did before SHIELD fell. She doesn’t necessarily like him, but allies are usually more valuable than friends anyway.

“Well, if you’re busy,” she says slowly, leaning on the bar. His face twitches; she’s got his attention. She leans forward and takes the drink from his hand, holding his gaze and sipping slowly.

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Gonna let me in on the secret this time? What am I dying of now, solar radiation?”

“You’re my teammate,” Natasha says. “I want to help you feel better.”

“So you’d do the same for Barton?”

“I have,” she says evenly.

Tony blinks, then shakes his head. “Okay, mental image I didn’t need. What about Phil?”

Natasha flinches, takes a breath-

“Oh come on, I know he’s alive.”

She calculates, then lets it go.

Tony plants a hand on the bar, putting his face right up to hers. “See, that’s why nobody can trust you. I’m not Steve, I don’t think you’re cute when you play me.”

“Steve trusts me,” she retorts, off balance, and catches the pain on his face before anger takes over.

“Then maybe you should try fucking with him.” Tony takes his drink out of her hand and stalks off toward Steve and the event organizers.

Natasha curses silently. When she turns around to lean against the bar, she sees Clint watching her from a couch across the room, the perfect angle to lip-read Stark’s half of the conversation.

_ ‘You caught all that?’ _ Natasha asks with a twist of her lip.

Clint’s forehead creases and he shakes his head minutely.  _ What were you thinking? _

Her shoulders slump just a bit, and she lets her head fall to the side in appeal.  _ I was trying to be friendly! _

Clint’s eyebrows raise and he looks between her and Tony.  _ You fucked up. _

_ Can you talk to him? _ Natasha nods him in Tony’s direction.

Eyes wide, he shakes his head vigorously.  _ No way, not my business. Besides, Stark likes me, _ he says via a smug smile.

Natasha purses her lips and flutters her lashes.  _ Please? This is important. _

“Ha,” Clint says out loud. Steve, Tony, and the organizers of the event, who are the last people in the lounge, all look over at him. Quickly, he looks up and pretends to be laughing at the ceiling. The others give him weird looks and go back to their work.

Clint scowls, blaming her. He points at her, then waves broadly at Tony’s side of the room.  _ This is your mess, you fix it. _ He gets up to leave and smiles lopsidedly.  _ Good luck. _

She sticks her tongue out at him.

Later, on her own floor of the Tower with a glass of wine, Natasha tries to analyze where she screwed up. Part of the issue is simply that Tony expects to be double-crossed, and if he knows about Coulson, then being manipulated by SHIELD is another factor. But a lot of his anger is definitely directed at Natasha in particular.

Over the last two years of working together off and on, Natasha thought that they’d buried the hatchet. Sure, their introduction wasn’t ideal, but she was only doing her job. Surely Tony has gotten over the undercover stint? Or maybe it’s because she nearly slept with him right before he and Pepper started a relationship? But no, Stark isn’t the sort to have trouble compartmentalizing sex.

Natasha downs her wine and pours more, starting to get frustrated. She’s used to people not trusting her- just not often people who she, more or less, does trust .

She scowls into her drink. She’s been off her game since SHIELD came down. That’s concerning, and frankly unsafe. Coulson would tell her to get the mess she made in order before it causes any more problems. But how is she meant to fix this relationship when Tony is so reluctant to give her any ground and most of her usual maneuvers ruled out?

It’s times like these when Natasha regrets working with anyone besides Clint.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony scowls at the crowds of people pushing their way around the docks. The press of humanity is stifling, even worse than the weather. From behind his dark sunglasses, the Florida sun blazes like a spotlight in Tony’s face and the air is as hot as the desert. It has the added insult of being so humid that the cheap suit SHIELD has foisted on him is about to melt off in all of its probably-Banana-Republic glory. Tony’s afraid to check the label and lose plausible deniability in case he’s actually spotted in this piece of crap.

At his side, Natasha- well, she glistens, like any respectable femme fatale in this sort of heat. She acts completely untouched by the hot sun in her off-the-shoulder baby blue sundress.

Tony drags his gaze from her creamy skin and swears viciously under his breath at the long line.

“Not used to having to wait your turn, dear?”

Tony glares harder at the ticket-taker a few miles ahead of them. “I have my own yacht, you know.”

“I know.”

They lapse into silence once again. Tony fidgets until Natasha pinches him cruelly on the side. He glares and pulls out his phone. He glances over the info Phil has sent them for the dozenth time.

“Tell me again why Birdbrain couldn’t take this one?” he says under his breath.

One eyebrow raises above Natasha’s dark amber shades. “Officially,” she drawls, “it’s because he’s not suited to this sort of environment. Which is true,” she says as an afterthought.

“And unofficially?” Tony makes a concerted effort not to roll his eyes. He’s pretty sure she’ll know, somehow.

“Unofficially, Clint can’t know Phil’s alive.”

Outrage on behalf of his teammate makes Tony clench his fist in his pocket. “You people…” he scoffs. “‘Need to know’ is more important than your friend’s peace of mind?”

“This _is_ for his peace of mind,” Natasha snaps, eyeing Tony through her shades. The couple in front of them peer over their shoulders at the hint of marital distress.

An echo from years back reasserts itself- getting stabbed in the neck with Lithium dioxide and learning that SHIELD held back his father’s life-saving research until the last minute. It’s only years of being in the public eye that keep him from baring his teeth at her.

Natasha steps closer to hiss, “I am doing what’s best for him. I am his partner, not you. You don’t get to decide what’s good for him.”

Tony snorts his disgust and turns away, and then finds his head wrenched back around by a clawed hand. Natasha sticks her face in his face. “If I find out you told him, Tony? You will regret it. Got that?” There’s true anger in her eyes, and even a hint of fear.

She’s probably playing him, is Tony’s first thought, through the wordless surprise of having elicited actual feelings from the Ice Queen. But something about these emotions seems too unpolished for a professional grifter. If this is the real Natasha Romanoff, behind all the Black Widow trappings, and she really is defending Clint rather than ignoring his rights…

Tony respects this reaction more than anything else he’s ever seen from her.

“Got it,” Tony says plainly. He waits for her to let go, which she does, slowly, and he rubs at the divot marks from her nails.

They don’t speak as they finally make it to the cruise liner. Natasha’s fuming, or at least Tony thinks she is, and he’s thoughtful. It was pretty obvious that Natasha cared about Clint back when the team first came together, but she didn’t show any more care than he’d expect for any fellow agent in distress. She’d certainly acted nothing like Steve had when he found out his old buddy was stalking around with Russian guns, or like Rhodey whenever Tony gets into trouble. But maybe he should have considered that showing even that much concern, for someone who censors herself as well as Natasha, was the equivalent of a flashing neon sign.

Or three ships crashing into the capitol, or search and rescue operations that went on for months beyond the ‘presumed dead’ declaration.

When they reach the welcome booth, Tony produces their tickets from his suitcase and growls at one of the sailors for eyeing up Natasha despite the ring on her finger. Natasha threads her hand through his elbow and smirks and he smiles back. They make their way onto the cruise ship and enjoy a light lunch in a commissary where Natasha gets her first eyes-on of their suspects and pickpockets their itinerary. They fake pleasantries and it’s easy enough, no worse than any gala Tony’s been obligated to attend. Honestly knowing that Natasha is prepared for a hostage situation makes this better than any charity event. By the time Tom and Natalie Swift begin unpacking their suitcases and preparing for the evening banquet, Tony’s actually in a good mood.

In fact, he’s practically enjoying himself. A luxury yacht, even if it’s a bit below his usual standards, a casino and bar downstairs- why not kick back? Tony watches Natasha as she discretely scans their room for bugs and unpacks her suitcase, considering his earlier epiphany. She’s… maybe alright. Or at least not the psychopath he’d thought she was.

“Visual surveillance, no audio,” she announces, finally ‘discovering’ a wall socket for her ‘phone charger’ and plugging it in. It’s Tony’s tech, so it does charge phones too, of course. He didn’t know SHIELD bought them, though, since they were produced on contract for the FBI, so he’s smirking when she leans against a dresser and says, “We have three hours before the dinner to convince them we’re a couple.”

“Well, what do you and Clint normally do, besides sleep together?” Tony asks, still smiling while he takes off his suit jacket.

“Actually, that’s mostly it.”

“I thought you two were supposed to be master spies. Your whole plan is show up and fuck?” Tony can think pretty fast, but he checks the next few moves on the chessboard and can’t see a way to get her not to suggest what he knows she’s going to suggest.

“If you want to convince someone you’re married, it’s the best way.” Natasha shrugs, looking unaffected and innocent.

Innocent. Yeah, right. “I thought you were over trying to get in my pants.”

She pushes off the dresser, drawing his eyes to her hips and waist as she walks toward him. “Why,” she asks, quirking her mouth into a sneaky half-smile. “Is it something I’d get over that quickly?”

Tony takes a step backwards and she stops in the middle of the room, right by the foot of the bed, to slowly take off her heels. When she puts her feet on the floor, she’s much shorter than him, and looks up at him through long eyelashes, putting her hands on her hips in a very deliberate way.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tony snaps. He looks away, but instead of ignoring her, his eyes catch on the slope of her bare back in the room’s full-length mirror.

“I don’t know, I think I’ve got a few moves you haven’t seen before.” She sounds amused, and very sexy, and if he didn’t know what she was, if the whiplash he’s getting from her manipulations wasn’t making him nauseous, they’d probably- Tony realizes he’s holding his suit jacket in front of his hips- okay, they’d definitely be on top of that bed right now.

So much for the Black Widow feeling that fraternal loyalty.

Tony throws the jacket to the ground between them, barely missing her toes as she steps closer. “Goddammit, Natasha, will you stop?” he shouts.

Natasha pulls up short. “You said you were fine with this assignment.”

Like a flick of a switch, she’s back to calculating. The sex kitten is nowhere to be seen. For a terrible moment, Tony remembers the way Pepper would flip into business mode if she got an important call during their private time.  He’d try to tease her out of it while she liaised and made important decisions and half-heartedly pushed him away.

Tony can feel his face burning red, which doesn’t happen very often. “Yeah, fine with ‘the assignment.’ Going undercover. I didn’t agree to this so SHIELD could finally get my semen sample.”

Natasha crosses her arms, scowling. “You are being completely unprofessional.”

Tony laughs, one sharp ‘ha!’ “You and I have radically different definitions of professional,” he points out. “See to me, professional means ethical business practices, working with your teammates, not screwing with them!”

His last remark last is emphasized with a finger jabbed at Natasha. She steps right up to it and stares him down to respond. “To me, professional means doing whatever it takes to complete the mission. I think you’re the same way, _sometimes_.” She tilts her head to the side, faux thoughtful even though her expression is completely blank. Tony grits his teeth.

“We are not having sex,” he forces out.

“The good news is, after this, they won’t expect us to,” Natasha says, sarcasm cutting around the edges. She turns away with sharp, angry motions and digs in her suitcase for a book.

Tony glares at her back, sure that the anger she’s showing now is fake. She’s completely in control again, detached, unfeeling, just like she was when she was trying to seduce him. He stands in front of the door, jacket on the floor in front of him, while she gets into the bed and arranges herself with her back to the headboard to read.

“The bad news,” Natasha continues, “is now we have to either make up or change the plan, ‘cause we’re supposed to be touring the boat nearby the targets tonight.”

Right. The targets. Information traffickers. Spies. International cooperation and stability. Tony puts everything ‘Natasha’ in a folder and minimizes it. Iron Man. World peace.

“Can we give each other the cold shoulder for an hour or two before we make up?” he says, more calmly now. “Pepper and I did that all the time, I’m very practiced at it.”

“Sure.” She doesn’t look up from her book, but her voice is a bit warmer.

Tony rolls his eyes and goes to take a shower.

When he gets out he feels a lot more relaxed, and he’s styled his hair back into the lame undercover ‘do. He wraps himself up in the complimentary bathrobe and sits beside Natasha on top of the blankets. After a few minutes of quiet thought, he decides that if she’s going to be cold and professional, he can too. No way he’s gonna let her show him up.

“So how are we going to make up?” Tony’s not quite sure what a proper reconciliation would look like. Usually, with Pepper, he just waited until she wasn’t mad anymore and life went on.

Could be that was part of the problem, he muses.

“I’m not trying to steal your sperm.”

Tony blinks. “Good to know. Is this part of the making up, because-?”

“When I’m working, sex is a tool.” Natasha closes her book and turns under the blankets to face him. “I don’t like to use it, if I don’t have to.”

She breaks eye contact, just for a moment, looking down at his chest. Tony remembers when her hand was connected to his arc reactor by a thin cable, remembers her kneeling in front of him, sitting on top of him-

“Off the clock, I sleep with Clint, a few other agents. A civilian or two. Friends.”

Her face is stony, but this is behind-the-Iron-Curtain stuff. Tony would feel awkward about it too. This is definitely the most honest he’s ever heard Natasha sound, for whatever that’s worth.

“You’re trying to make friends with me?” he clarifies.

“We are teammates,” she says levelly. The ‘after all,’ is implied, as though a) being teammates makes people friends, which it doesn’t, and b) being friends means people sleep together, which it doesn’t.

“You fuck all your teammates?” Tony shoots back.

“No, just the ones I click with. The ones I… trust, more than most.”

The hesitation and her lip twitching. Uncertainty? Or is she just manipulating him again? “You’re trying to ‘click’ with me?”

Natasha shrugs, and there’s suddenly irony in her tone again. “If not each other, who else do we have right now?”

There’s a tendon sticking out in Natasha’s neck, a sign of strain. If she were as in control as she’s projecting, he wouldn’t be able to read anything on her.

If Tony can sit through Steve’s stories about the Howling Commandos and their good pal Howard Stark at team dinners, he can talk honestly about sex and trust with Natasha. The latter is significantly less painful than the former.

“I don’t sleep with my friends,” he says slowly, thinking it out as he speaks. “I do relationships occasionally, or two or three nights at most. You don’t shit where you eat. I learned that one the hard way.”

Natasha looks at him again and this time he swears there’s sympathy in her eyes. No way she doesn’t know about the lovers who stole Stark Industries secrets from him, or sold the stories of their relationships for money or fame. It’s been a long time since that happened, but only because Tony hasn’t made those same mistakes.

“I’m not so unprofessional, and I don’t think you are either,” she tells him quietly. “But I get where you’re coming from, and I’ll respect it.”

She nods, and Tony nods back. They sit in silence for a while. It feels like a weight’s been lifted off his back, or more specifically, like he was being watched and the watcher is gone. Tony shakes his head in wonder.

“I’ve never had a talk like this before,” he says. “It’s a bit bizarre.” He looks between the two of them, prime specimens of humanity, calmly agreeing not to bone through the bed in the proper spirit of evolution.

“Neither have I,” Natasha says, just a bit disgruntled, and Tony chuckles.

That can’t be it, obviously. They’ve been in some strange limbo of trust and suspicion and mildly veiled scorn for too many years to get over it from a quick chat about their sex lives. Somehow, though, Tony finds that being around Natasha is easier now that they’ve duked it out. They get back into the married act while preparing for dinner, and by the time they hit the ship’s ballroom, Tony’s not even faking his smiles.

Dinner goes by easily, a progression of mediocre food and acceptable wine pairings, while Natasha sparkles across the table. Conversation flows more than the booze, starting with  weapons and spy tricks that Tony’s seen in movies and Natasha has performed in real life. They soon move along organically to fast cars and fast planes. Tony tries out his rusty Italian over the entrée, almost making Natasha choke on her wine, and when she tries to greet him in Japanese, he laughs out loud. She narrows her eyes at him and her fingers trace her steak knife, but he just laughs harder.

They’ve arranged themselves so that Natasha has eyes on their targets, who are seated a few tables behind Tony. The ballroom is long and wide and done up like something out of _Titanic_ , but with natural light, which is a nice touch. Tony detests feeling closed in, always has, and eventually- despite the pleasant company- he gets antsy sitting at their small table in between a dozen others. There’s a dance floor at the other end of the ballroom, with a set of musicians providing background noise. Tony resists the temptation to scarf the rest of his meal and head over there _now_.

It’s both a surprise and a relief when Natasha waves off the waiter bringing dessert. She rises first and reaches out to Tony, leading him to the side of the room and heading toward the front.

“Pepper used to say you had the attention span of a goldfish,” she grumbles.

Tony checks; she’s smiling. “She hated that,” he admits.

Natasha stops to let a waitress pushing a cart with chilled wine pass in front of them. She turns to Tony and fixes his tie, a fake smile in place. “Your ability to sit down and shut up doesn’t have any affect on my career,” she comments dryly.

Her smile changes, becomes realer, when she says, “And you’re no worse than Clint. If he’s not waiting for a shot, it’s like trying to calm down a toddler who has to pee.”

Natasha turns and continues toward the dance floor while Tony stops short, watching her go. He’s more flabbergasted than the first time he heard Steve swear, and back then he’d barely managed to stop himself from blurting, ‘But you never swore in the comics.’

Tony dashes ahead and catches up before Natasha notices his absence, and then they’re on the dance floor. Natasha has traded in the sundress for something more appropriate to dinner, a long indigo dress with a sweetheart neckline just respectable enough for the venue that shimmers subtly in the golden lights. Her hair has been straightened and tied up intricately, and her make-up done so that, if Tony hadn’t seen the whole look coming together back in their room, he might not have recognized her. Women can do scary things with make-up nowadays, he figures, but the end result is glorious. For the hundredth time, he thinks, _If she weren’t my teammate…_

But she is, and they just talked about this, and dammit Tony Stark _can_ keep it in his pants around beautiful women who have repeatedly tried to get him in bed. He doesn't exactly have a lot of evidence to back up that claim, but he is more than capable. He’s determined to be.

He steps up to her and takes her in his arms, and they start swaying. Natasha is nothing but grace and power when she fights, but dancing is another world. Tony has seen some of the nation’s most elite fighters fail to shuffle in a circle at some of the military events he’s had to attend. And yet, he’s not surprised that Natasha has a perfect sense of rhythm and timing, following each of his cues perfectly as they progress to easy turns and smoothly join a new tempo.

“You’re good at this. Better than Clint, anyway,” Natasha teases. “Maybe I’ll start bringing you with me more often.”

“With Coulson’s teeny-boppers for back-up?” Tony shudders. “Never again. His hacker’s not half bad, but knowing she’s somewhere around here with a sniper rifle is giving me the shakes.”

Natasha shakes her head, smiling. “I know her trainer. She’ll be too afraid to make any mistakes.”

“You know, I never met a SHIELD agent besides you who could be properly intimidating,” Tony rambles, looking around the room for the nearest waiter carrying alcohol. “Phil has that persona, but it’s unsettling more than intimidating. And Barton’s dead-eye stare is creepier than anything else. Fury makes me think of a cartoon character who happens to control nuclear weapons.”

“She’s scarier than me,” Natasha says.

“The trainer?” Tony asks, returning to the subject. Natasha stares up at him, expressionless. “Okay, that’s impressive. I wouldn’t make any mistakes either, in that case.”

Natasha looks pleased. They continue to dance, and he catches her locking eyes on their targets again, then someone along the edges of the room. Tony glances over, but only sees a sommelier and her assistant. “Scary,” he whispers.

“I think you and I got off on the wrong foot,” Natasha says suddenly.

“I distinctly remember not getting off, actually,” Tony jokes, and Natasha’s glare is real enough this time to cow him. “Sorry.”

“No, I should be sorry. We thought you wouldn’t respect a woman on your team unless she got one over on you.” She looks away. “We didn’t realize it would mean you’d never trust me.”

Now that’s depressing. Both the assessment and the conclusion. “I…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, preempting whatever bullshit he was going to promise her courtesy of remembering Pepper’s watery eyes the last time they danced. But fuck that, back to the present.

“Okay, you’re right. I don’t trust you. You’re a spy. It’s your job to lie and dig into people’s business and take over their lives.”

“Not my teammates’,” Natasha retorts. “It’s different now.”

“Then why isn’t Barton here?” Tony counters.

Natasha fumes for a whole half second. “If he were, he’d be in danger.”

“But not me?”

“No. It’s my job to know these things, and to do what I can to protect us.” They dance in a heavy silence when it’s clear Natasha has more to say. Tony waits.

“I know… it’s not in your nature to rely on others, particularly for protection. It’s not in mine either. I learned because of Clint, and… a few others.” Her eyes wander the room; Tony’s are locked on her. “You doubt me where you wouldn’t doubt Steve, or Clint, because I broke trust with you. Do you think we could ever get past that?”

She looks up at him, her green eyes dark and deep, and doesn’t look away even as the moment stretches out and out. They’re still swaying, turning in a smooth circle, their rhythm undisturbed by the turmoil between them. Tony stares at this pale beauty wrapped in red and blue and tries to figure out what she is on the inside. Her direct gaze seems to promise the world, but provides little in the way of answers.

They hang in that quiet place for a long minute, until Natasha blinks and her face transforms, subtly, matching the cheerful tone she suddenly adopts. “I like the music too, Tom, but if we stay much longer we won’t have time to go through the whole exhibit.”

Tony recovers quickly. “How much time do you need? It’s a cruise ship, not the Met,” he plays along. He follows the dart of Natasha’s gaze to his right, and sees one of their targets pass within a few feet on the way to a side exit.

“There are three galleries on each floor, so- Target A has exited the ballroom.” Natasha speaks into the hidden receiver on her bracelet under the guise of fiddling with a lock of her hair. “You stay here, I’ll follow. Keep eyes on Target B, _quietly_ ,” she says to Tony.

“Copy that.”

“Comms on.” She steps away from him with another fake smile and a caress of his chest, and slinks away through the crowd.

Tony mumbles the code phrase that enables the tiny receiver and speaker tucked into his ear. All of a sudden, the chatter from Coulson’s geek squad is loud and clear.

He snags a glass of wine and returns to their table, keeping the second target in his peripheral vision and making like he’s examining the eye candy in the room, which, admittedly, isn’t difficult to fake; there’s a lot on display. And it’s nice not to worry about getting recognized. Natasha did undercover make-up on Tony, too, despite his initial protests, and between the Stark goatee becoming a trend, the douchebag hair, and the shitty suit he’s wearing, Tony is disguised enough to play his part.

Not that he has much to do. Brief fighting sounds come over the comms, and then Natasha announces that she has intercepted the data their targets were attempting to sell off. One of Coulson’s fresh-faced baby agents lures Target B away from the crowd. Tony follows them out, _quietly_. When he reaches them, the target has figured out his situation and knocked the baby agent to the ground.

Before Tony can step in, another agent engages. It’s the sommelier Natasha was watching, a Chinese woman of a more reasonable age to work for SHIELD. She gets in two solid hits before the target pulls out a nasty-looking knife. She disarms and knocks out the trafficker with a quick sequence of moves Tony never imagined anyone but Natasha capable of.

Tony applauds. His reward is a smirk and a flip of hair as the agent hefts her fallen opponent toward the rendezvous point, with the help of the recovered baby agent.

“That’s the trainer I was telling you about,” Natasha comments, appearing out of nowhere at Tony’s elbow.

“Why isn’t she an Avenger, again?”

“Fury offered. She turned him down.” Natasha winks, then follows the path of the other agents down the hallway. Tony watches her go, just another beautiful woman in an expensive dress, and takes a deep breath before following.


	4. Chapter 4

Hydra leaves him in the cell for what feels like hours, though that could just be the ADD. The cell is walled in on four sides by concrete, roughly ten-by-ten, with a reinforced steel door. There’s one camera, in the corner opposite the thin cot.

Tony’s already analyzed everything six times, devised four separate escape plans, and come up with a new idea for a chicken pesto sandwich on a waffle. He is possibly going a bit stir-crazy.

Of course, he also gets to think about how this is his fault, big time. If only he and Steve could stop bickering for ten minutes straight whenever they pair up for missions, Natasha and Clint would have been paired together like usual. Natasha _volunteered_ to partner with Tony, the first time anyone has trusted him to have their back in a fight, one-on-one, since Rhodey, and now she’s been dragged away by Nazi scumbags for reasons unknown.

Tony hates himself quite a lot right now.

The cell door clangs loudly before it swings open. Tony is on his feet in an instant, ready to fight or posture-

And ready to catch his teammate, as it turns out. Tony doesn’t even see the Hydra agent who tosses her into the cell like garbage, too focused on her wide eyes and compulsive shivering. “Widow!”

The door slams shut. Tony spares a second to glare promises of death at it while he half-drags Natasha to the cot. Her limbs move; she doesn’t exactly help him move her toward the bed, but she’s at least semi-conscious. A half-remembered prayer forms in Tony’s mind before he sends it away.

“Widow. Can you hear me?” He tilts Natasha’s lolling head up and peers into her eyes. Dark and unfocused, but her pupils don’t look fixed. She looks at him when he’s right in front of her. “Can you hear me?”

She twitches. Her hand, wobbling in midair, come up to touch his cheek.

“Good, you’re still awake in there. It’s Tony. You okay?” Tony’s a bit unsettled by the complete lack of situational awareness Natasha is displaying. It’s actually more eerie than being dead center of a Hydra base.

“Tony…” Natasha murmurs, blinking slowly. Her lips barely move.

“Yeah, that’s right. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” She’s like a wet noodle in his arms. He has to shift around to keep her propped up, because she’s not helping at all.

She is, however, still stroking his cheek.

“Uhh…”

And his lips. And she’s whimpering a little.

Tony’s brain tries to reboot. “Um. Widow?” He manages to prop her up with one arm, freeing the other one to stop her from groping his face. The movement presses them closer together, and Natasha outright moans.

“ _Tony…_ ”

 _Oh._ Tony leans closer and sniffs her breath, searching for any one a few dozen distinctive drug scents. Natasha whines, high pitched and desperate, and Tony squeezes his eyes shut.

“Oh God, they dosed you with an aphrodisiac.” When he peeks at her face to see if she’s reacted in any way, her eyes are unfocused. “And something to disorient you, clearly.” She falls against his body and her mouth sort of smacks into Tony’s, wetly. “And a disinhibitor, perfect,” he rambles anxiously.

“ _Tony…_ ”

“I’m out of my depth here, Nat, think you can try for a full sentence?” he says tensely.

Natasha grabs his dick. “Tony, _please._ ”

His brain goes completely blank for a solid three seconds, until he yelps and disengages her hand from the family jewels. “Okay, wow, okay-” he dumps Natasha on her back. “You’re just going to lay down here-”

She tries to pull him down, and Tony squirms a little to untangle himself from her octopus-arms. He manages to corral her limbs and unceremoniously shoves one of her hands at her own private parts, thank you very much.

“-and try taking care of yourself, and I am going to sit over here-” he shakily sits with his back against the wall on the far side of the cell, “-and think very hard about... baseball.”

Natasha is whining in distress. Tony watches in mixed terror and incomprehension as she tries to shove her hand down a non-existent pair of pants, and her cries get more unhappy and hurt.

“Holy crap, I can’t believe this is happening,” Tony whispers. He inches back toward the cot as though he’s approaching a cliff’s edge, and as gently as possible, he unzips Natasha’s tac-suit from the neck to the hips. He guides one of her hands to the new slit, and instinct takes over; she gets her hand inside and down and moans with such fulfillment that Tony breaks out in a cold sweat.

Natasha’s hair is a mess, her cheeks are glowing pink, her chest heaves with each breath, and her eyes are wide in shock and flickering un-self-consciously over Tony’s body. She moans his name and it’s the same way Pepper sounded when Tony was making her eyes roll back in her head.

“Dear God.” He sits back down against the cold concrete wall, ten feet away. “Okay, brain,” he says to himself, and then forcefully submerges himself in hyperfocus mode.

 _On the one hand,_ Tony thinks, _Natasha is clearly in distress and thinks sex would help. And she wants_ me _. On the other hand, she’s drugged out of her mind and I’m her only option. But she did say she would sleep with me to complete a mission; does this count? But sex is a tool to be used when there isn’t another option, remember. But she did offer to sleep with me when it_ wasn’t _for a mission. Okay, different angle. It’s pretty cold in here, could I even keep it up?_

He risks another glance at Natasha. She’s writhing on the cot with one hand down her catsuit and one squeezing her own breast. She bites her lips and stares at Tony longingly whenever she’s not tossing her head back and forth and moaning with pleasure. He can hear the slick smacks of her hand on her own wet flesh.

 _Nevermind. And now I’ve got a rape boner. Hell, she can’t even string a sentence together, I can’t have sex with her even if she would think it’s expedient. Expedient… like when she stabbed me in the neck._ Tony shudders at his own thought. _God that would be a terrible, extremely Freudian revenge… and it might not even help her. It might make things worse. I don’t know the composition of the shit Hydra shot her up with._

Natasha cries out, mingled joy and despair. Tony can feel the hairs on his neck standing on end. _If she gets any worse… I’ll- lie back and think of Iron Man._

The next hour is complete hell. Natasha’s constant moaning and gasps peak every so often. Tony is rock hard in his skin-tight flight suit despite the cold air and concrete, and the 75% complete layout design for lightweight and portable retroreflective panels that he’s called up from his mental folders. Hyperfocusing on the design actually distracts him from the potent surroundings for a while, until Natasha calls his name quietly, and he opens his eyes.

She’s staring at the ceiling. Tony shuffles over, compelled to be quiet. When he sits on the very edge of the cot, he can see that she’s shivering.

“I’m cold,” she whispers.

“Yeah, here.” Tony inches closer and zips up her tac vest, averting his eyes. Natasha shivers harder.

“Can you-” she tilts her head to the side.

“Yeah, okay.”

With a bit of shifting around, their icy uniforms chafing at each other, Tony manages to lie behind Natasha, his back once again to cold concrete. After a second’s intense uncertainty, he slips one arm under her neck and the other over her side, tugging her close to his body and rubbing her arm. She moans, this time in pain.

“You okay?” Tony asks, quietly; his mouth is right next to her ear now.

“Sore,” whispers Natasha. “Keep doing that." Tony does.

He zones out, feeling her shivers gradually subside until the only movement between them is their shallow breathing and the heartbeats he can feel in his chest and her back.

The high octane awfulness of the episode keeps Tony from sleeping, but he’s finally broken through the last hurdle on the portable panels in his mind when there’s a huge clang against the door. Reflexively, Tony clutches Natasha closer, and she gasps in pain. While Tony freezes in terror, Clint’s glorious, beautiful, Avenging head sticks inside the cell.

“Nat!” Her partner rushes forward and checks her for injuries, then helps her sit up and takes her into a tight hug. He’s whispering something into her neck and Natasha murmurs back to him.

Tony gets up off the cot, shivering in the cold air, and pokes his head out the door. Clear on both sides. “How are we doing?” he asks the air a few feet to Clint’s left.

Clint is sitting beside Natasha on the cot, both arms round her. Her face is tucked into his neck. “Compound’s cleared to our position. Banner and Thor are creating distractions on the South and Northeast. You good to move?” he asks Natasha.

She doesn’t answer. Awkwardly, Tony speaks up. “She’s got no injuries that I could tell. They drugged her. She seemed coherent a while back.”

Clint nods. “Can you carry her?”

“I- yeah. Yes.” Clint nods again, and Tony steps forward to pick up Natasha’s lolling body in a bridal carry.

“Here.” Clint pulls out a handgun from a leg holster and presses the grip into Tony’s hand. “I’ll watch the front and the back, this is just in case. Got it?”

“Got it.”

With a few hand-signs, Clint leads them out.

Their team’s distractions must be good, because they don’t encounter any hostiles on the way out. Besides intruder alarms and gunfire echoing distantly through the corridors, the base is silent as the grave. Tony can hear their footsteps and his teammates’ breathing.

Natasha looks very pale.

When they get to the outer door, Clint exits first to check their 360. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping Tony on his feet, and he doesn’t even remember making it to the Quinjet, just the relief of seeing Bruce leaning over Natasha on the medical bed, and then heat on his shoulder.

Tony looks up. He’s sitting on the floor in one of the wings, back to the wall, out of sight of Thor and Natasha and Bruce in the main cabin by the medical bed. Clint has them in the air, and Steve is kneeling in front of Tony, one hand on Tony’s shoulder, wearing his compassionate face.

“I’m fine,” Tony says preemptively.

“You’re shaking,” Steve points out.

Tony looks at his hands, and his arms, and the rest of him. He is. He closes his eyes again.

Steve neatly tucks a shock blanket around Tony’s body, and then tugs so that he’s curled up to Steve’s side. Steve is very, very warm. Tony is still so cold. Steve rubs at Tony’s arm and side, just like Tony did for Natasha.

Barely audible over the engine sounds, Tony says, “I want to burn them.” He remembers the vicious glee of setting his life’s work on fire as he escaped the clutches of Afghani terrorists. He sees Natasha twitching on the cot and remembers shuddering in the icy cold of the cave he’d shared with Yinsen. “I want to blow that place to kingdom come.”

Steve squeezes him closer.

When Tony has stopped shaking, Steve helps him back to the cabin. He buckles in along the starboard wall of the quinjet with Steve at his side. Bruce mutters into Steve’s ear about Natasha’s condition,clearly trying to maintain confidentiality. But Tony has lived with the sounds of aircraft all his life and overhears most of it anyways. She’s as healthy as Bruce can determine at the moment, and doesn’t want anyone to touch her.

Clint has parked himself at the head of the medical cot, leaving their flight plan to the dubious combination of autopilot and Thor’s technological prowess. He’s mere inches away from Natasha, but not touching her, eyes fixed at a point beyond her feet. It’s only a hint more obvious than if he were actually staring at her. Natasha is curled up on her side with blankets tucked around her up to her chin, facing Tony and Steve’s seats. Were it not for her empty, unseeing eyes, she could have been dozing off on the wide sofa of Stark Tower’s entertainment room.

“Still prefer me over Hawkeye on recon and retrieval missions?” Tony asks her.

The joke falls flat. Whether it’s the rasp and crack of his voice, or the graveyard stillness of the jet, Tony can’t tell.

Natasha doesn’t even crack an expression. “Shut up, Stark.”

It’s so awfully final-sounding, so lifeless, that Tony can feel his chest tightening again. He manages to stay silent for a whole two minutes before swallowing. Clint’s laser-gaze cuts him when Tony chokes out, “Did I make the wrong choice?”

Natasha looks over the blanket at him for while, and he can’t tell what she’s thinking, or if she isn’t thinking at all, or if she simply has nothing to say. The ice seeps back into his chest to grip his heart.

Finally, she closes her eyes, and says, “No.”

The rest of the trip home is silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who like visual aids: _[voila](http://blogsdir.cms.rrcdn.com/10/files/2011/11/bedUntitled-1.jpg)_

It is a bedraggled and exhausted bunch of Avengers that slowly congregates at the rear of the long-haul truck they’d ‘requisitioned’ as transport for the Winter Soldier. Tony gets there first, of course, but Clint arrives soon after, and annoys Tony until Tony steps out of the armor and submits to a field medical. Sam and Natasha return soon after, and are too tired to put up any resistance to Clint’s mother henning.

They wait. Tony pulls out his phone. Natasha and Clint have some sort of conversation with their eyebrows. Sam fiddles with the field dressing Clint put on his burnt forearm, until Clint notices and gently smacks his hand. The already-muggy air gets even hotter and wetter as the sun sinks down the horizon.

Eventually, the door of the trailer opens and Steve emerges. The Winter Soldier’s cracking moans echo metallically before Steve closes the door and they’re muffled again. He stands upright, leaning back slightly, as though he’s surprised to find them there, and opens and closes his mouth without speaking.

In the awkward pause that ensues, Clint seems to decide that he’s done with them and turns to limp his way to the cab.

“Dibs on driving!” he calls over his shoulder, apparently under the impression that anyone else would want to drive after the four-hour marathon of explosions and terrifying thirty-second death scrums required to subdue Steve’s old war buddy. Tony’s not even carrying his suitcase armor, and he was on the perimeter, not in the thick of it.

Steve waves Sam into the back of the eighteen-wheeler, but shakes his head at Natasha. “You’ve been on his trail longer than any of us,” he points out.

Tony raises an eyebrow. Steve is barely keeping himself from slumping against the truck, from exhaustion and injury. Natasha looks fresh as a spring chicken by comparison. But Tony knows that no one’s going to convince Steve to leave Bucky’s side, not for love or money or common sense. Natasha seems to come to the same conclusion, because she only gives Steve a pointed warning not to overtax himself or Sam before she follows after Clint.

And then there were two. Steve looks at the ground, scuffing his boot into the pavement, and Tony looks anywhere but at Steve. “I’ve got some caffeine pills if you want ‘em,” Tony offers into the awkward silence.

Steve still hasn’t quite forgiven Tony for suggesting that they sedate Bucky with a long-range weapon and perform introductions under heavy restraints.

Tony still hasn’t quite forgiven the Winter Soldier for being the weapon Hydra used to kill his parents.

“Won’t do much for me, will they?” Steve says ruefully. He even manages a tiny smile.

Tony’s been practicing what to say. Pepper coached him a bit on the flight down to Baton Rouge. Better to just barrel into it. “Just ‘cause you found him doesn’t mean it’s over. And just ‘cause I’m not sold on the guy doesn’t mean I won’t support my team. If you need anything else, you know where to find me”

It’s extremely hard not to fidget uncomfortably when Steve’s staring at him like that. “Tony…”

“Well, I’m very tired, and you’ve got work to do, so we'll chit-chat tomorrow.” Tony flashes a winning smile and speed-walks after Clint and Natasha, snapping his fingers to make the suit follow him.

“Thank you,” Steve says behind him, and it’s just as painfully earnest as Tony was expecting.

He hides his cringe to look over his shoulder and reply, “Anytime, Cap.”

Clint smirks at him from the driver’s seat when Tony enters the cab, and Natasha ignores him in favor of her phone on the passenger's side. Tony glares half-heartedly. He really is exhausted.

Tony only steals the best stuff, and the big rig is no different. The interior of the cab is the truck driver’s equivalent of a Vegas hotel room, complete with soft walls, a relaxing color palette, and a wide cot at knee-height. Tony makes a gesture in the air, instructing the armor to collapse back into its suitcase shape, before he lets himself sink onto the bed. He burrows under the comforter and sticks his head into the pillow.

He is lulled to sleep by the sounds of the six-cylinder engine ( _7 miles to the gallon,_  Tony’s sleepy brain mumbles, _I could do better._ ) and the quiet murmurs of friendly assassins a few feet away.

...

Natasha’s the one who notices Tony’s nightmare. He makes no sound, but he kicks the side of the cab and wakes Natasha from her light sleep. She looks back and examines his flinching in the off-and-on lights of the freeway.

She taps Clint on the arms once and tosses her head toward the bed when he looks. _I’m going to go sleep._

He raises his eyebrows and gives her a knowing look. _Oh sure, that’s what you’re doing._ He glances behind them and very deliberately turns off his hearing aids.

Natasha’s expression in response is not fit for polite company.

Clint is still giggling like a child when she takes the two and a half steps to reach the cot where Tony’s tangled himself in the blanket. She reaches out and tugs on the blanket, sits on the cot heavily, and shoves Tony under the guise of arranging herself until he wakes up. She ignores his heavy flinch into consciousness.

“You’re a blanket hog, Stark.”

Tony’s breathing heavily, but he recovers quickly enough. “I wasn’t aware we were sharing.”

“If you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t reply. Natasha is facing away from him, the better to protect his dignity, but she frowns.

“Are you cold? I’m cold.”

Natasha can actually feel him shivering slightly behind her, but she’s still pretending not to notice his distress. She looks over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows.

Tony shivers harder. “That wasn’t a come-on, I swear, this thing has more drafts than the Malibu house. You’re not feeling it?” He’s tense, but not in a bad mood, and the rambling is more cute than annoying. Amused, Natasha relents.

“I’m a little cold.” Tony cuddles up to her, tucks his icy hands under her body and into her jacket without hesitation. Maybe he really is just that cold, or his nightmare was that bad, Natasha considers, but this is more comfortable than he’s ever been with her.

She turns over to face him. She slips one arm into his coat and leaves the other in the warmer space between them. Tony shifts his arms around her new position without thinking, and she concludes that maybe Clint wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Did you know Clint’s deaf?” she asks.

Tony looks at the front of the cab, but there’s no response from their teammate a few feet away. “Really?”

“Yep. He uses hearing aids, knows a few sign languages, lip-reads. And before you start on how I control people’s access to personal information again, I know he’s fine with me telling you.”

Tony’s head shifts against the pillow; challenging, but not confrontational. Banter. She was right. “And how’s that?” he asks.

She smiles, going for both steamy and humorous. “Cause when I came back here he winked and turned his hearing aids off.”

Tony’s eyes flick toward Clint again, and his jaw moves: a swallow? a tell he’s trained himself out of? Natasha’s body is as relaxed as it’s possible to be on a cot sized for one person, but inside, her mind is whirring with analyses and mixed emotions, more invigorated than drained by the day’s mission. She channels some of that energy into a provocative smirk.

Tony actually smiles, scoffs. “What is your obsession with getting me in bed?” The shadows on his face from the dream have melted away.

Hope. Keeping it light is working. “Once I make a goal, I don’t like letting it go,” she tells him. Then, playfully, “And at this point, I kinda feel like if I don’t, I’ll always wonder.”

“So that’s it, I’m just a notch on your bedpost?” Tony fires back, grinning. Unconsciously, he’s inched closer. Her palm is pressed against his chest now, and the other side is nearly pressed against her own.

A month ago, he would have been angry at what she’s implied, even as a joke. But the failed mission that led to their night in a Hydra cell, for better or worse, brought them closer. Terrible experiences often do, Natasha has found. Tonight, Tony’s body language is relaxed, his voice and smile are easy, and she feels unexpectedly safe.

She mirrors his levity. “Maybe you’re worth two notches. What do you say?”

Tony glances over Natasha’s shoulder at the driver’s seat. When she meets his eyes again, there’s a light in them that looks a lot like happiness.

And then they hear an anguished cry, muffled, from the back of the truck, and the tentative sparks of desire die an instant death.

Tony coughs. “Uhh… raincheck?”

Natasha shrugs with one shoulder. She turns around and wriggles back so they’re pressed close together again. The added warmth and friendly interlude have her drowsy, but after a few seconds, she grins.

“Is that-?”

“That’s my cell phone,” Tony says dryly. “Go to sleep, Romanoff.” He tucks his arms around her more securely, and they both drift off to the sounds of the road.


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha sips slowly at her wine and gazes out over the nighttime skyline of Manhattan from her plush armchair in the lounge of Stark Tower. The lounge, lately known as the Avengers’ floor, has been refurbished since the last time she attended a party here, with comfortable furniture and soft mood lighting to replace the chic steel-and-glass aesthetic. The company has improved a lot, too.

Across the solid oak coffee table, Clint is teaching Jane Foster’s assistant to balance things on her face, with mixed technical results. Darcy is certainly enjoying herself regardless of her failures, and Sam and even Maria are cheering her on, a sizeable collection of drained shot glasses cluttered in their vicinity.

Tony and Colonel Rhodes (“I’ll tell you now to call me Jim, but I’ll forgive you if it turns into ‘Rhodey.’ It usually does.”) are sitting with Bucky on the couch to Natasha’s right. Steve, while supposedly following Jane Foster and Thor’s conversation, is not-so-covertly watching Bucky’s every move. Natasha inspects the situation and decides that Steve is just being his normal overprotective self. She can’t hear what they’re talking about over the music Darcy’s piped through from her iPod, but Bucky appears relaxed and is even smiling every so often.

Bruce is watching Natasha, from the seat diagonal to hers. He looks relaxed, content, and... amused.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. _‘Got something to say?’_

Bruce’s lip quirks up a bit more at the corner. He looks around at the circle they’ve made, then at Natasha with a tilt of his head, and that is way more mushy, emotional silent-talk than Natasha can handle.

She narrows her eyes and Bruce chuckles.

The song changes from Bon Jovi to the new summer pop hit, and Darcy hops to her feet. She grabs Sam and Clint by the nearest body part and drags them to the open area between the lounge seating and the landing platform. She immediately makes her intentions clear by starting to dance to the atrocious beat. Clint backs away quickly, then relents when Maria follows to taunt him. Jane joins them and Thor accompanies her, wearing the same highly dubious expression he had when Tony convinced him to try pot.

In his armchair, Bruce is laughing silently and clutching his gut like it hurts. Steve looks hilariously awkward all of a sudden, alone on his couch. Tony is filming their teammates making fools of themselves on the dance floor.

Natasha sinks a bit deeper into her seat and hums.

After several songs, assorted shenanigans, and the opening and draining of another bottle of tequila, a different sort of music comes on over the surround sound. [ This song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P54TxRWdiwM) crackles like a record, and Steve and Bucky both look up from their conversation when they hear it.

Apologizing, Darcy heads for her iPod to change it. “Sorry, my grandma keeps getting into my iTunes. She’s a troll.”

“Wait a minute,” Steve says, holding up his hand. “I like this music,” he explains, to various groans and a shout of ‘old man!’ from an unidentified Avenger named after a bird.

“Hey, it’s a waltz,” Steve protests. “A real dance song, not like-”

“Whatever it is you kids do nowadays,” Sam interjects, wagging his finger at Darcy like a schoolmarm. Maria snorts. Resigned to the song continuing, the dancing group leaves the floor and settles back on the couches.

Seemingly aware that he’s brought down the room, Steve continues. “Doesn’t anyone know any real dances anymore?” he asks plaintively, holding up his arms as though to embrace a partner.

“Harlem shake,” Darcy says in a low voice. Clint, Sam, Maria, and Tony get the reference. Everyone else is mildly confused.

“Do you know any dances, Steve?” Bruce asks. Natasha can tell he’s trolling- his chin is tucked down, not up in curiosity- but no one else can.

“Of course.” A chorus of teasing rises up. “I can waltz,” Steve defends against his detractors, blushing. “I just… never got in much practice.”

“I got put in etiquette classes as soon as I could toddle, dancing included,” Tony says. “It was awful. However, turned out to be good for meeting women later on.”

Rhodes chokes on laughter. “That’s not how I remember it.”

“What are you saying?” Tony says snidely.

Rhodes only grins wider. “You may have managed to convince a few ladies that you were hot shit, but it wasn’t because of your dance moves.”

Sam and Darcy go “ _Oooooohhh_.”

“Shots fired,” Clint murmurs.

Jane giggles, and Thor grins at the spectacle.

Tony is on his feet in a flash. “Character assassination. I demand redress.”

“Hey, _I_ never claimed to be good at dancing,” Rhodes laughs.

Tony turns to the others, showman-like. “Anyone besides Rogers willing and able to help me defend my honor? Lewis, put the waltz back on.”

Maybe Natasha should think this through, weigh things like she always does, decide what move will best serve her various goals. But she’s been drinking champagne for the last three hours, and honestly? She really wants to dance. And it’s a party with her team and their nearest and dearest, and for once, Natasha decides to just do what she wants.

The general hooting and insults falter, then turn into cheers when Natasha slowly gets to her feet. Tony’s expression when he turns to her is oddly weighty, and Natasha feels the need to dispel a strange tension by giving him a half smile.

“I’ll protect your ego. But if you step on my feet, Stark, I’ll make you regret it.”

The distant look fades and Tony waggles his eyebrows, accepting the challenge, while their friends laugh and starts taking bets and pouring more drinks.

They step onto the impromptu dance floor, approaching from opposite sides of the lounge area like fighters circling a ring. Tony’s grinning in anticipation and Natasha can feel a glint in her own eye. As easy as breathing, they step into the same stance as their dance on the cruise ship, and ignore the reactions from the others while the waltz restarts.

Natasha’s evening dress is extremely fancy, but designed to look casual. It’s orange and pink streaked with white, a light fabric cloth wrapped around her like a sarong- cool for the warm evening, but a terrible dress to dance in. She’s managed to take down operatives in worse outfits, so she isn’t worried about restriction of movement. But it does mean she can clearly feel Tony’s body heat, on her front and on her exposed upper back, where he rests his guiding hand. Surely it’s the alcohol, but Natasha is distracted enough that she nearly misses their first easy entrance.

Luckily, Tony is paying better attention. His thumb rests inside her left shoulder blade, and the skin there is suddenly hypersensitive to his gentle, guiding pressure. It only takes a few steps of the dance before Natasha can tell that Tony really does know what he’s doing with the waltz, and, pleasantly surprised, she relaxes into his lead.

Their friends clap (Clint hollers) while Tony competently directs Natasha in sweeping steps across the small dance floor. He’s good at giving her notice with his eyes and hands and never steps uncomfortably too far into or away from her. A minute or so in, he feels secure enough in their pattern to make a vindicated face at Rhodes. Natasha squeezes his hand and immediately gets his attention back.

Tony’s eyes are a very warm brown. Natasha blinks. “Let’s show them how it’s done,” she murmurs, summoning a coy smile to cover the quiver in her gut.

 

 

He grins back. They take a few step and hold steps before Tony transitions to a Viennese waltz, but in a few seconds they’re spinning faster, moving like synchronized ice skaters around the open area. Natasha’s back twinges with the memory of long hours in this position, with her back arched and her head thrown back to be displayed to the room. Before she does anything more than think about it, the pressure of Tony’s hand on her back increases, supporting her in the wide turns.

The astonished encouragement from the team has increased while they danced, and when they perform the flourish at the end of the song, cheers break out. Natasha gets caught again for a moment in Tony’s warm gaze before he gracefully spins her into her bow.

“I think I got it!” Darcy crows, selecting another record-scratched song on her iPod. “We’re doing this!” She drags a protesting Clint onto the floor and arranges his arms around her.

A musical intro plays while the others pair up. Thor and Jane step forward, announcing their intention to take it slowly. Bucky gets to his feet, immediately attracting Steve’s devoted attention.

“I remember dancing to this,” Natasha overhears him say. “You just follow, it’ll be easy.”

Both Rhodes and Sam beeline for Maria, who laughs aloud before waving them off and going to sit at the edge of the couch near Bruce, leaning over to gossip about the dancers. Rhodes and Sam look at each other and shrug, earning a catcall from Tony when they step on the floor together.

The space available for dancing is a lot more crowded now, and many times someone backs into someone else as they try to figure out what they’re doing. Thor and Jane quickly give up and sit beside Maria and Bruce. Clint shouts in pain and Darcy laughs.

The new music has a different beat, and Natasha and Tony stick to stepping and swaying on the edges of the floor. They have a good angle to watch their friends as they stumble into learning.

“Where did you learn to dance?” Tony asks.

“Where? Moscow.” Natasha hesitates. “I used to do ballet with the Bolshoi.”

She can feel Tony’s suspicion in the line of his body. “Really? Long road from _Swan Lake_ to SHIELD.”

Natasha’s not particularly in the mood to talk about her past. She lets her eyes smoulder and looks up at him from under her lashes. “Spies need a lot of skills,” she says slyly.

Tony gives a sudden cue and turns them at double speed, taking a very un-waltz-like step-and-twist. Natasha spins and fans her leg high to compensate, a move practiced both for dance and for kicking an opponent in the head.

Darcy shrieks and nearly smacks Clint in the face when she flails in surprise. Bruce chokes on his drink and stares at Tony and Natasha with eyes as wide as silver dollars. Natasha tucks her leg in tightly and steps right into Tony’s sweep on the next step; their rhythm doesn’t suffer a single beat.

Everyone else looks in confusion between Darcy’s hyperventilating, Bruce’s swinging jaw, and Tony and Natasha, casually swirling around the dance floor. After a confused minute, when Bruce gives up and shakes his head and Darcy only manages to babble, their friends go back to dancing or talking.

“You learned Latin ballroom in Moscow?” Tony continues, cool as a cucumber.

Natasha glares and steps closer to him, making Tony’s step hitch as he offsets the new momentum. In response, he slows down their steps, exaggerating his cues. Natasha is used to her opponents pushing harder at this point, and the fact that he’s backing down softens her response.

“I started in Moscow. We travelled.”

Tony nods, but he’s looking over her shoulder at Steve and Bucky’s latest hash. After another round of the floor, Darcy has to restart the song, and Natasha feels strangely at sea.

“My favorite is rumba,” she offers into the silence. “But it’s hard to find a good partner.”

“I was never good at that one,” Tony replies, a few degrees above chilly.

They dance in silence. His hand in hers feels oddly shaped, like it doesn’t fit anymore. Natasha misses the days when she could manipulate other people’s trust issues, rather than falling prey to her own. She’s the spy here and she can’t even work a teammate. Not that she does that, but…

A commotion on the floor breaks up Natasha’s depressing self-analysis. Rhodes and Sam are sitting on the floor, legs tangled, talking over each other in loud voices. “No, _you_ were supposed to follow!” can be heard clearly over the music, and they bang into each others’ knees as they try to stand.

It’s such a comical sight, particularly since Natasha has seen how graceful Sam normally is, that she laughs out loud. When Steve tries to help the pair to their feet, gets tangled up in long limbs, and gets knocked over by Sam pinwheeling, it’s only Tony’s quick grip on her waist that keeps Natasha from doubling over as she laughs until her sides ache.

In a few minutes, Steve is back in Bucky’s arms dancing fairly smoothly, though he glares over Bucky’s shoulder at Sam and Rhodes as they retreat back to the couches, still fighting over blame. The only other pair still on the floor is Clint and Darcy, the latter of whom is patiently re-teaching the former a basic box-step. Natasha is upright once again, though she’s relying on Tony’s lead more than she was before. His hands are tighter, supporting more than guiding.

She looks up to thank him and receives an oddly blank look in return. After a few beats, Tony blinks out of whatever thought was taking up his attention and makes one of his infamous mental leaps.

“When’s your birthday?”

“August 28th.”

“So it’s coming up.”

“In a few months, yes.” She narrows her eyes, but a smile spreads over her face in spite of herself. He’s entertaining. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing more than a great party,” Tony replies, quick and glib and back in the saddle. He even looks away indifferently before asking, “What do you want for a present?”

So it’s the old game again. Back in her comfort zone, Natasha smiles smoothly. “What are you offering?”

Wrong move. They slip apart a few inches and his distracted glance to the side isn’t an affectation, this time.

Abruptly, Natasha is tired of playing. The push and pull, measuring every word, is something she does with marks. For better or worse, Tony is her teammate now, and they need to have trust between them, or some semblance of a relationship that won’t sink like quicksand upon the easiest misstep.

Natasha steps in close and stops moving. “Tony.”

Having his full attention- begrudging, but respectful- is about as intimidating as a smile from Fury. That is to say, decently. “I’m an actor-”

“I noticed,” Tony interrupts.

“And I’m not good at not being one.”

Now, he listens.

“I’ve spent more time pretending to be someone else than not. It’s kinda hard to turn off. Isn’t that something you can relate to?”

Tony’s gaze seems to sear right through her. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be seen, but people mostly don’t look too hard past the act. For once, Natasha pushes further than is wise, makes herself vulnerable when she doesn’t know the outcome.

“I’m trying. Can you try to trust me?”

A few seconds or an eternity later, Tony nods. As though on cue, the music changes back to the floor-shaking beat of synth-pop. They remain in the ballroom-hold, hands on shoulder and waist and clasped together.

“I want a hoverboard,” Natasha says. “One that works.”

Tony smiles slowly, growing gentle wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.” He lets go of her hand, and they step apart, letting the night move on.

When everyone has danced and drunk their fill, when the music has been turned down and most of the party is slumped back in their seats, Steve sits up (half on the couch, half on Bucky’s lap) and invites everyone to a black and white movie night on his floor. Darcy raises a drunken cheer, echoed by an even more drunk Jane. Maria and Sam bow out, begging work in the morning, and Thor reminds Jane that she, too, has responsibilities elsewhere. As they exit to the elevator, however, Jane’s wandering hands assure those facing the interior of the building that she is unlikely to wake at a responsible time tomorrow morning.

Everyone else gets up (Steve and Rhodes half-heartedly try to clear the tables of assorted debris) and follow Darcy’s lead to the elevators. Natasha is about to check in with Bruce when she notices Tony’s absence from the party. When she glances back, he’s standing behind a couch, leaning on it with one foot on the dance floor, and unabashedly admiring the lines of her dress.

Natasha shakes her head at Steve’s questioning look and lets the elevator close without her. The floor echoes with the silence of nearly a dozen people’s empty space, and Natasha glides through it until she stands beside Tony on the floor. She steps into his personal bubble easily, like there never was any distance between them, and for once he isn’t radiating the ‘superhero genius’ vibes that make getting close to him such a Herculean task.

Instead, Tony reaches out and puts a hand on her waist like they do this every day. “I thought we could try a rumba,” he says naturally, “but you gotta take it easy on me, I’m older than you.”

Natasha feels as light as the champagne she’s been drinking. She tilts her head and blinks in a way crafted to make people wonder if she’d actually winked at them. “You have no idea how old I am.”

Tony huffs. “I could have JARVIS look it up.” He steps back until they’re facing each other a few feet away, a good start for a basic rumba.

“That would be cheating,” Natasha says, voice low.

Tony’s eyes burn in response. “JARVIS, [hit the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bb8uqm2_kfU).”

They start slowly. The rumba is harder to jump into without choreography, without having danced with this partner before, and from the outside they wouldn’t be winning any points for style. But Natasha has a good eye and years of experience reading her partners and making her movements as seductive as necessary, and Tony is a sensitive dancer with good hands. He’s leading gracefully to the rhythm of the song, sultry horns and clever percussion, making it easier to pick up on the slower, more sensual moments.

For a few minutes, Natasha allows herself to be led and dances the way she always has- she stays coy, teasing, tempting, and Tony chases after her. She can feel his eyes on her body as she breaks away, and she begins to accent the rhythm with her hips.

It only takes a minute of polished seduction before Natasha realizes she’s dancing the pattern she’s followed so many times before, perfected to draw in a mark and make them want her. But that’s not why she’s dancing now, and it’s not the way she wants to play it tonight. She looks up at Tony, starts making her own suggestions rather than just following, and Tony’s devoted gaze catches it all. They stop looking away from each other at all, dancing like they’ve been trading cues for years.

Every time their hands touch, it’s as though they don’t want to let go. When Natasha steps around Tony and he turns to her, she finds herself stepping closer, and his hands linger more with every turn. She can feel his heat as they circle around each other, and his expression is giving away a hunger as deep as her own.

The song is coming to a close and their movements speed up, Natasha’s heels clicking against the floor. She fans out with a flourish and performs a tight spin past him, and Tony catches her securely and throws her back the way she came. When he tries to catch her on the other side, his hand slips on her silk dress and she stumbles.

In the split second of momentum, Tony breaks form to catch her, and muscle memory has her throwing her body to neutralize an opponent. Her counterweight rolls Tony through the air and he sprawls along the floor, pinned to the ground with Natasha crouched on top of him. The music stops.

Natasha is pinning one of Tony’s arms in an unbreakable hold, and her other hand is around his throat. Her brain catches up with her body and she releases him a moment later, crouching by his side. “Sorry, instinct. Are you okay?”

Tony blinks up at her and laughs loudly, throwing his head back. Natasha can only watch, breathing hard from exertion and taken aback at the sight of Tony so carefree.

“T.K.O.,” he says, grinning. “I mean ow, I get why Happy was pissed when you took him down, but I think you win that round.” He sits up, rubbing at his throat.

Natasha touches his windpipe where she applied the most force. “What did I win?”

Tony’s chuckles peter off and he looks at her, smiling gently, the same way he did the night they brought Bucky in. She wants to lean into him, touch him the way they both just admitted they wanted to, if not in words. But he’s the one who has to make a decision here, not her.

Then he shakes his head. “I’m never gonna be able to keep up with you, am I?”

Natasha relaxes down to her bones. She knows how the rest of this is going to play out. “Wouldn’t be as much fun that way, would it?”

He smiles, just like that. Easy, without any hint of deception, or fear of the same, and Natasha thinks that maybe someday she’ll be able to return it.

“You want a drink?” Tony asks. Natasha can read him like a book, though.

“Let me guess, you keep the best vintages in your bedroom?” she teases.

“Nowhere more secure,” he shoots back. “We’d have complete privacy, for the tasting.”

“That sounds like a pleasant end to the evening,” Natasha says primly. She stands and offers Tony a hand getting up himself, which he takes. “You lead,” she offers, definitely daring him with her eyes.

Tony can never resist a dare. He pivots, raises his arm, tugs, and she spins under it, letting him grab her and dip her backwards. When they stand up, their faces are an inch apart, and Tony closes the distance between their lips. Instantly, the heat of the rumba is back, and Natasha wraps herself around him. Tony stumbles, but catches them quickly. “There’s a bonus I did not see coming,” he says into her mouth.

Natasha tosses her head to kiss him without her hair getting in the way. “You going somewhere? Or are you waiting for an Iron Man pun?”

Tony kisses her again, and they match each other here just as well as they do dancing. When they break apart, they’re both breathing more heavily.

“I think I’ve had enough waiting,” Tony says.

Natasha couldn’t agree more.


	7. Chapter 7

They manage to kick and toe off their shoes as they stumble through Tony’s bedroom, but they’re fully clothed when they fall onto the bed, kissing hungrily. Natasha hums her appreciation as Tony’s warm, firm weight presses her into the mattress, crushing her breasts between them in the most pleasant way. The feel of his goatee on her lips is intensely arousing; Natasha clutches his hair and presses them together.

Tony kisses down her neck and settles there, making Natasha squirm. She goes to work on the buttons of his shirt, dragging it off him and stroking the newly-exposed skin. She wraps her legs around him as much as possible in her gown, which is not all that much.

Tony starts searching for a zipper on the dress. Natasha grins, because she senses his rising frustration, and bites his neck. He yelps. She laughs.

“How the hell did you get this on?” he complains, finally. Natasha has already shucked his pants down his thighs, leaving her fully dressed and Tony only in tight-fitting boxer briefs.

Very tight-fitting… Natasha licks her lips.

“Anytime you feel like joining the party,” Tony prompts.

“Oh, I’m having a great time,” she murmurs, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. She brushes her nails gently down the bulge in his underwear, already aching with expectation for having his hard cock inside of her.

Tony catches her hand in his, breathing through his teeth and glaring with mild desperation.

Natasha relents. “It wraps,” she admits.

Tony traces the lines of the dress with his eyes, and then reaches out to follow one fold with a hot hand. Natasha shivers.

“So if I’d grabbed the wrong part when you were spinning…” he theorizes.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

“Missed opportunities,” Tony says absently, then bears them both back down to the mattress. He kisses her like magnetic force is drawing them together, and Natasha can only kiss back and trace the defined muscles in his back, luxuriating in the press of their bodies and learning the taste of him.

They break apart when the need for air becomes critical. “You could always, you know, take it off very slowly and sensually, right here,” Tony suggests breathily. His fingers search under different folds of the dress, now and then eliciting a twitch from Natasha as his callouses catch bare skin.

“I thought you were opposed to me putting on a persona,” she replies breathily.

Tony grins. “I just think your personas would look better on my bedroom floor. And, you know, I use my public persona for the Avengers all the time, I do all sorts of media-”

“So you want me to give you a lap dance for the Avengers?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a noble act, for President and Country,” Tony says seriously. “But you know what, let’s shelve that, because tonight-” he tugs once under a particular length of fabric, and the whole garment loosens around Natasha. “I want to unwrap you myself.”

Natasha moves as he tugs, and the whole things slides off her body. She can see his pupils expand in the low light as she stretches out on his sheets, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing as he holds himself up, staring down at her with a single-minded focus. He lays down between her thighs, licking and nibbling at her breasts.

Tony goes to work with experience and passion, finding her most sensitive nerve endings and lighting them up. His eyes are half shut in bliss. Natasha runs her hands over his skin and scratches at his back. She writhes upwards into him, her swollen clit brushing against him torturously.

"Okay," she says breathlessly when her nipples ache and the need between her legs is overwhelming. "That's enough. Get in me, Stark."

"Eager," Tony teases. His voice drops to a sexy timbre, and it makes Natasha shiver. That's the only reason she doesn't roll her eyes when his next words are, "Don't worry baby, I'll give you what you need."

She forgives him for real when he retrieves a condom from the bedside table, takes off his briefs and kneels above her.  Tony’s eyes roam over her body while he rolls the latex over his dick, stroking himself slowly. Maybe if his breath didn't hitch when he stares at her pussy, his gaze would seem domineering or obnoxious, but with his awed expression and wide eyes, he looks nothing short of worshipful.

Tony teases her entrance with the head of his cock, making them both groan, and then slips  gently inside. Natasha arches her back as the muscles of her cunt relax, slowly letting Tony press his hard length in deeper. She grips at his shoulders, lifts her hips, digs her heels into his ass, all the nonverbal cues that should mean _fuck me_. But Tony keeps up the interminable slide, pressing and easing off, until finally, finally, he's all the way inside.

Part of Natasha understands that his pace is a good trick to establish control and make his penis seem bigger. The rest of her is less willing to analyze, just glad that it _works_. She's barely stretched at all, just molded to every inch of Tony's dick, willing to be complacent under the hands of a master at his craft.

And sure enough, he gazes down into her eyes and leans forward for a slow, deep kiss. He tilts her head into it, holding her by the neck and the base of her skull. Any other time, such a hold would have Natasha bristling, but when they break apart, Tony's calm, confident gaze makes it clear that he knows what he's doing.

Sex has always been Natasha's least favorite part of her job, something she only really enjoyed with people she knew well. On the other hand, sex is clearly Tony's passion and speciality the way engineering is, like shooting is for Clint and the way espionage and combat are for Natasha. It makes it possible for her to relax.

Tony keeps their pace slow even when Natasha tries to force him to go faster. He presses inside methodically, his hips angled so that his cock glides against her clit as he enters her. When he pulls out, he avoids the stimulation so that she always arches her back in anticipation of the next thrust. Finally, she cants her hips to meet his thrusts and Tony groans, long and shameless, sitting back on his ankles so he can hold her hips for better leverage.

It feels like forever and just minutes later when Natasha hears Tony chuckle and opens her eyes. She'd been lost in the sensation, the heat steadily growing and spreading through her body. He brushes the side of her face with his fingertips, then leans forward again to follow the path with bristly kisses.

"You close?" he murmurs.

Natasha nods. Her eyes close without her input. It just feels so _good_. Sex hasn't felt this good in years.

Tony kisses her throat wetly, grunting and sighing his pleasure. His hand on her breast slides down to massage her clit and Natasha rears up and bites his shoulder, letting out a whine without thought.

"Shit, yes!" Tony curses into her ear. His hips jerk and Natasha gasps. She sucks at the skin between her teeth to encourage the behavior, and Tony sits up, ripping his flesh away from her and tugging her hips up his thighs.

"Fuck, okay." He thrusts harder, faster, and what should probably hurt just feels so, so good, as the head of his cock nails Natasha's best hot spot again and again. She convulses, biting her lip so hard it feels like it might bleed, and his fingers dig into her waist.

All of a sudden Tony starts talking, babbling almost, with none of his previous methodical, collected presence, and it makes Natasha smile even as she throws back her head and grips the bedsheets tight enough to tear them.

"You sexy girl, you look fucking incredible," he groans, panting, "come on Nat, I want to see you come on my cock, come like this, _fuck_ , you feel so fucking good, you're so wet- come on, I wanna feel you come so hard you can't see-"

It breaks over her when he changes the angle, sliding against the head of her clit again. Natasha's hips gyrate powerfully, rhythmically, without her control. Her eyes slam shut, multicolored sparks exploding over her vision. She can't distinguish the words, but Tony's praising her, swearing through his own climax above her, his last, choppy movements sending another powerful pulse through her cunt.

When his cock finally slips out of her, he sinks so he's half-slumped on top of her. The smell of him is incredible, spicy and sexy, and Natasha wants to bury her nose in it. But she knows from experience that in a few seconds it'll be disgusting, so she runs her hand down his back, from the nape of his neck to his ass, and then nudges at his hip until he rolls sluggishly onto the mattress at her side. She drags the blanket up from the foot of the bed and to cover their rapidly cooling bodies.

It takes barely a minute for her higher brain functions to come back online. Natasha frowns at the ceiling, the rose-tinted glow of orgasm fading as her trained mind pounces on a discrepancy.

Tony's brain must recover as quickly as hers, because he has his head propped up on one hand. His mouth is twisting ruefully he watches her.

“That’s not a good expression, is it?” he asks, voice still rough. “I have never seen that face and had it mean good things. Actually, the only time I’ve seen that face after sex, she told me she didn’t like it when I called her daddy.”

Natasha elects to ignore that. For the time being.

“I’m just surprised, I guess. All the women you’ve slept with say you’re pretty wild in bed.”

Tony huffs. “Should I be flattered that you care about my sex life, or ashamed I didn’t wear you out?”

“Don’t worry, I’m satisfied,” Natasha says with a lazy, smoldering smile. “I’m just saying-”

Tony’s expression tightens up again, losing all of its post-coital languor. His eyes are suddenly cold and closed-off. Natasha thinks back over the last ten seconds and realizes that she’s used a deflection like that, albeit more polished, on many a mark.

“Sorry. I mean… it was good. Really good. Just not how I expected it to go.” He’s still stony-faced, watching her as unfeeling as a camera. “Tony. I’m trying. I swear.”

The mask cracks. He nods, chewing on his lip.

Natasha reaches out, tracing the lines where the arc reactor used to sit. The plastic surgeon must have been good, but the skin is obviously patched from transplants. It’s rougher.

Tony touches the back of her hand, tracing up her wrist and back. “It’s different because you're not a one night stand.” He shrugs awkwardly. “I figure, maybe I should show you I'm worth two notches.”

A slow warmth spreads through Natasha, reclaiming places that had started to ice over with dread. She lets a smile grow on her face, and it’s not planned at all. “That sounds feasible.”

Tony smiles back, open and innocent. His eyes sparkle in the lights from the city outside the huge windows.

Then, he ruins it. “You know, we at Stark Industries are constantly working to improve our services. If you have any comments or concerns-”

She hits him in the face with a pillow. Tony lunges, scooping under her and rolling until he has her pinned on her front. Then, he pauses with his hands on her wrists at the small of her back and his breath raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

“See, I don’t know if this is supposed to be sexy or not, I’ve never been with a woman who could kill me so easily.”

“You’re missing out,” Natasha says casually. “It’s pretty great.”

Natasha can _hear_ him start fantasizing.

“... _That’s_ sexy,” Tony breathes a moment later. “Was it Maria? I always thought you two-”

“You don’t know her. And Tony.”

“Yes Ms. Romanoff?”

“I’m letting you stay behind me because I’m assuming you have a plan back there.”

Tony nods firmly, Natasha sees from the corner of her eye. “I have several, very sound, very reliable strategies from this position.”

She twists so he can’t see her smile. “Then put one in play, before I decide you need training.”

“Win-win,” he shoots back. “But I see your point.”

He kisses the back of her neck, prompting a shiver, and then shifts her wrists to the mattress on either side of her body. He kisses and licks slowly down her spine until he reaches her hips, at which point her lets go of her arms and pulls her up to her knees.

Natasha lets him go about his plan, trusting in his years of experience to steer them right. Maybe somewhere in her subconscious she still isn’t completely sure about him, because she holds back any of the moans or whimpers she might have let out if she were with someone else. But when Tony reaches her cunt, still wet and sensitive from coming a few minutes ago, she has to twist her fingers in the pillow to keep her breathing steady.

And it only lasts for so long. Once he gets his fingers and tongue in her- not as hot and filling as his cock but _mobile_ \- she's breathing fast and high in her throat. Long sweeps down her slit have Natasha groaning, and then-

“ _Uhh,_ yes! Tony, fuck!” She jerks and her clit slips out of his mouth. He teases her with glancing dashes of his tongue until she moans. “ _Please!_ ”

He nips her, chuckling, and it's only because he immediately takes her back into his mouth that she refrains from kicking him.

Talented fingers stroke her g-spot and his tongue tortures her clit until she's right on the edge and nearly sobbing with it. And then-

He pulls his fingers out of her, breaks contact, and kneels up.

“So what I want to know is, are those your sex noises or a persona's?”

Natasha tackles him. In the blink of an eye, he's on his back with his head nearly falling off the foot of the bed, shocked and a little afraid.

She stares down at her captive, chest heaving but otherwise motionless. After a long moment, she says, “I don't know.”

Tony's goatee is wet with her come, but his eyes are serious. “Okay.”

Natasha looks back and forth between his eyes, but he's actually not pushing it or trying to make a point.

“Want me to get back to what I was doing?” Tony suggests.

She lays down facing away from him and pulls the covers back up. The urge to shiver is only overcome by instinct that keeps her still.

The covers rustle as he sits up. “Hey. I'll stop being an asshole.”

“I doubt that,” she grumbles. Her clit is still throbbing, overstimulated and unsatisfied.

“I promise you, hmm, ten minutes of non-asshole behavior. Unless you like that sort of thing.”

Natasha tries, but he’s nuzzling her hair and rubbing her hip above the blanket, and she can't suppress her smile. She turns it into something mysterious before she faces him, though.

Not being manipulative doesn't mean being a pushover.

Tony blinks in surprise as Natasha turns back onto her stomach.

“Natasha? Was that- do you-”

“Get to work.”

“Copy that.”

They don’t fall asleep for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This story is the result of a huge investment of time and energy, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! There will be a sequel (a few?), but my muse insists on writing thirteen stories at once. If you'd like to find out what happens next (Natasha's morning-after, Tony trying to be in a relationship, and Steve's epic-bad reaction to finding out are all possibilities), please comment! Or else I will actually forget!
> 
> If you liked the art, please go to [the art masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8523124) and let the artist know! And if you didn't like the art, please go to the nearest optometrist!


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